A Christmas Story
by LilLolaBlue
Summary: T'was the week before Christmas & Nixon, the louse, sent Eddie to Kabul, leaving Liv alone in the house. Spidey's been put out on the street & poor web head has nothing to eat. Old Black Tom's tired of Logan's crap, he's visiting his son & that's that.
1. All I Want For Christmas is

**A Christmas Story**

T'was the week before Christmas & Nixon, the louse, sent Eddie to Kabul, leaving Liv alone in the house. Spidey's been put out on the street & poor web head has nothing to eat. Old Black Tom's tired of Logan's crap, he's visiting his son & that's that.

**Prelude: Sentinels Roasting on an Open Fire**

**New York Thruway, en-route to X-Institute, December, 1974**

**I: Liv**

Now, this might come as a great shock to you, but I fuckin' love Christmas.

It's my favourite time of year.

The Old Man, Christmas was really his kind of holiday. He always made a big deal out of it. He used to say that when he was a kid, he never had any Christmas, so now, he was going to have all the Christmas a man can get. Eddie he's like that about it, in away, but not like the Old Man. Maybe it's because Christmas is sort of a shiny, bright, crazy, flashy kind of holiday.

Yunno, flamboyant and nuts.

A real Crazy Jack Napier, the Joker, Clown Prince of Crime kind of shindig.

Decorated the whole bunker, and I mean decorated, like Macy's decorates. It took the goons days to get the stuff up. I think when he put the lights on, the docks flickered on and off.

When I was little, Ma, made cookies, and after, the Old Man, he's have 'em brought in, but then I started making them. And we'd sing Christmas songs, the Old Man played them on his baby grand in the living room, and we'd watch old movies.

He loves Christmas. And he could always do something to make it merry for you. Christmas of '69, I was at a real low point in my life, I was drinkin' pretty heavy, even for me, and seein' a shrink and doin' crazy shit, and in the course of a bar fight, not even workin', I wound up with a knife in me two days before Christmas, on the docks.

And didn't the Old Man find me, and bring me home, and take care of me, and manage to make the season bright for me, anyway?

Just lookin' at the lights and how he had all his goons dressed like elves wearing Rudolf antlers and big red noses, it made me laugh. And the Old Man had me on hot toddies and good cheer and some good meals, and I really felt better, I actually had a good Christmas.

That's when I figured out the true meaning of Christmas, which is to make the best of what you got with who you got, and be glad you got it.

That's what I try to do, for my friends, and for myself.

Anyway, every year he's not at Arkham he has this big Christmas party at his bunker. I don't go anymore, conflict of interests, you know, but when I was a kid, it was a lot of fun.

All these crazy-looking people in weird costumes, all drunk and slapping each other on the back and singing "Jingle Bells" off-key and laughing at their own jokes.

Kind of like the big party at the Avengers Mansion, every year, except for some reason masks have better singing voices than villains do.

And I always got lots of presents.

Even after I moved in with Bruce, when I'd go see the Old Man, Jesus, did I get a lot of presents.

Even now.

And when I was little, we'd go see the big tree in Rockefeller Center and go ice-skating, and all that crap. And on Christmas Eve, he'd ship me over to Edie and Aggie Blake and Ivan's place, you know, Edie's old house, in Brooklyn, so they could take me to Church.

I still do that, every year.

Eddie says if you wanna even have an outside chance of not going to Hell, you gotta go to Church on Good Friday, Easter, and Christmas.

Anyway, I always looked forward to Christmas.

And once Dick and me came to live at Wayne Manor, Pop couldn't very well have little kids around, and no Christmas, so he started doing the whole Christmas thing, again, which I guess he hadn't done since he was a little kid.

And now Alfred and Dick and me, we do up Wayne Manor like the Old Man used to do up his bunker.

After we throw that light switch, it's goodbye Long Island.

I mean, what's not to like about Christmas? It's an excuse to be happy, and see your friends, and celebrate making it through another year.

That's always a good thing, right?

Jesus, even Eddie likes Christmas. He goes back to his old house every year to help Ivan put lights all over the place, but they're always drunk when they do it, and somebody always falls off the porch or off the ladder and lands in the bushes.

Me, every year, I have this Christmas party, just for my friends, in my wing of Wayne Manor, which, after I get done with it, looks like the North Pole.

And every year, Logan doesn't come to it, and I have to go and get him.

Hank tells me, every year, they have to drag him out of his room on Christmas.

He hates Christmas.

Out of all the masks and villains I ever met, he's the only one who hates Christmas.

Shit, even his brother Vic shows up at the Society of Supervillains Christmas party.

Well, maybe this year.

Anyway, about a week or so before Christmas, there was that shit with the rogue Sentinel that went after the X-Institute.

The fuckin' government, lemme tellya! They fuck up and send some monster to kill you, and you have to get rid of it, and then, you figure the least they could do would be to come and get this shit off your lawn, so you can decorate for goddamn Christmas, right?

Yeah, fat chance.

So good old Crazy Paulie, he always needs a little dough, and everybody needs a little dough around Christmas, so I got him this deal with Professor X that him and me and Pat Blake, Paulie's brother, we'd come up in the wartime truck with that backhoe Ivan stole from the last construction site where he worked, and strip it, cut it up for scrap, and haul it away.

When we left the city, there were just a few flakes in the air, but the closer we got to Westchester, the thicker the snow got.

We were getting funny looks from the other, and mostly stranded drivers on the Thruway, and why not?

It wasn't every day that you saw a honest to God military truck barrelling down the highway, with what looked like three crazy hippies stuffed into the cab, and me and Pat and Paulie were probably singing "Jingle Bells" loud enough for the whole world to hear us.

Anyway, Pat's truck is this Ford former Vietnam supply and troop transport that Pat drove during the war, so we had no trouble navigating the snowy, icy roads, especially not with the former Sgt. Patrick Blake, USMC Special Forces behind the wheel.

And me, 1st Sgt. Trivelino J. Napier, USMC Special Forces, riding shotgun.

We got to the white-blanketed X-Institute at five AM, sharp, right on schedule.

Professor X, like I said, he offered Paulie a nice piece of change, and Pat, even though he was in college and had a job, he couldn't resist Professor X's generous offer for the dismantling and removal gig, not to mention the scrap value.

Me, I was there to cannabalise the monster's electronic and mechanical innards. I mean, I got a Level 10 security clearance, and I'm not allowed to touch Sentinels, because I "associate with mutants."

Fuck that noise.

What Nick doesn't know won't hurt him.

Not only am I gonna figure out what makes these things tick, I'm gonna steal every bit of its guts that I can carry.

We all hopped out of the truck, and began to unload, and while the boys were still wrestling with that fucked-up old backhoe, I had the welder's hood on, and the acetylene torch fired up, and I was cutting my away into the score of the century.

Pat and Paulie went to work, also with welding torches, cutting the robot into sections.

The noisy part didn't begin until they started attacking the sections with sledgehammers, to try and separate the plates.

Then, when I got in, it turned out I was going to have to remove whole sections of the thing, so I went back into the truck and got Pop's adamantium-bladed power saw.

Another handy-dandy industrial product brought to you by Wayne Enterprises.

The noise was loud and unpleasant to everyone in the mansion, but to Logan's sensitive ears it must have sounded like a record of a family of alcoholic beavers with metal teeth chewing down an iron forest being broadcast over the PA system of the loudest rock band in the world, which is the Who, but that is neither here or there.

He came out in just his pants and his boots.

You should have seen the look on his face.

Even Logan was not prepared to see Crazy Paulie Blake, naked from the waist up, and just as tattooed as I am, in the blowing snow, with his long hair in one braid and his Rasputin beard in another, standing on top of a section of dead Sentinel, singing "Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer" as he separated it's metal plates with a ten pound sledgehammer.

Swinging it from the hips on down, you know?

"What the fuck is this?" he asked.

"Huh? Oh, good morning, Logan. I just got this little job to do, here." Paulie says.

"It looks like a big fuckin' job. Where are those sparks comin' from?"

"Me! I want the guts!" I said.

It was a good thing Pat was there.

Pat's relatively sane, unlike me and Paulie.

Logan knows that.

He was one of Pat's CO's.

"Pat, lemme ask you. What the fuck is this."

"We're just up here getting rid of this thing for you. Professor X is paying Paulie and a whole G to get this hunka shit outa here by tonight. And we get the salvage rights for the scrap. If we can do it by noon, Cyke promised us an extra five hundred."

Logan climbed up on the shell beside Paulie.

"You cut me in for four hundred and a third of the scrap, and we'll be done by noon."

"Three hundred and another two hundred, flat from the scrap deal."

"Three-fifty, another three-fifty from the scrap, and a case of St. Pauli Girl."

"Done." Pat agreed.

_Snikt!_

"You're doin this all wrong, Paulie. The seam's right here."

A little later in the day, after the roads were cleared, a blue-grey Bentley glided up the drive and past the now desiccated Sentinel.

I was just loading the last of the parts into the big metal container Pat hauled out of the truck for me when that elderly backhoe, gave up the ghost in the cold.

I told Ivan when I stuck it back together any way I knew how that it wasn't going to last, but we'd all been hoping it wouldn't die before the job was done.

So Pat and Paulie and Logan were reduced to picking up the heavy pieces of metal and carrying them into the truck.

And I was trying to figure out how I was going to get a dumpster full of Sentinel guts back into said truck.

That's where the Bentley comes in.

The window of the Bentley opened a crack, and a long, imperious white hand protruded, after which the metal slabs began to file into the truck in an orderly fashion.

Followed by the dumpster.

Then the window opened all the way.

"Give my regards to your father at Arkham, Trivelino."

"I will, Erik. Thanks for helping us out." I said

"Was that a Sentinel?" he asks me.

"It was."

"And were those its electronic and mechanical innards?"

"They were."

"Trivelino, you're not going to use those Sentinel parts to try and take over the world, are you?"

"I just might, Erik."

"That's the spirit, my girl. Merry Christmas."

"Happy Hannukah." I replied.

"Thank you. You will be at our party, this year, won't you? We need at least one Napier to make it a Merry Christmas."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Magneto continued on up the drive.

Good old Charlie, he's always trying to get his old friend to come back into the fold.

Magneto's my father's second-in-command, and unlike the Old Man, I think he always figured I'd land on their side of the fence, someday.

He's probably crazier than the Old Man is, but how the fuck else were we going to load the truck?

That's another funny thing. I've been around Erik all my life. I know he's a diabolical supervillain, and I think I've fought with the X-Men against him, a few times, in his costume, but, out of it, he's my father's friend who taught me how to play chess.

That's why he comes to see Charlie Xavier.

To play chess.

Crazy world.

Anyway, Logan didn't like it, but considering his history with Magneto, that's no surprise.

"What's Chuck have him here for? More chess?" Logan snarled.

"At least the job's done. I'll go in and get the money." Paulie announced.

Pat started up the truck, and Paulie got in.

I hung around for a little bit, to talk to Logan.

"So, are you coming to my Christmas party, you fucking Scroogey old bastard?"

"I don't like Christmas, darlin'. You know that."

"Well, there's free food and free beer and everyone you know that you do like will be there. C'mon, Logan. You didn't show up last year, and it wasn't the same."

"You never came to get me."

"Yeah, I know. I was mad at you. If you don't come this year, I'll come to get you with that adamantium-bladed power saw. C'mon, man! I got you the best goddamn present in the whole fuckin' world! An' if you don't want me to keep it, you gotta show up under your own steam."

Logan shook his head.

"Alright, darlin', I'll think about it. Maybe I'll show up."

"That's the spirit, Ebenezer! Okay, I gotta roll. See you on Wednesday! Merry Christmas!"

"Yeah, yeah."

So, with the backhoe broken, I had to get Jon to transport me and the dumpster back to the Batcave, after Paulie and Pat went back into their house and I told them I was just gonna wait for Pop to show up with transportation.

I'll tell you who was gonna have a Merry Christmas.

No sooner was I at the Batcave than Jon, and Tony, and Bruce were digging into that dumpster like kids in a candy store.

You know, if you really think about it, you take four mad scientist masks and stick them in a super-secret super-lab beneath the earth with a dumpster full of extra-super-secret spy-type tech, well, if we wanted to, I guess we could have figured out how to take over the world.

Better us than them, right?

Right?

**Chapter One: All I Want for Christmas Is A Place To Sleep**

**New York City, December, 1974, **

**I: Peter **

It was a lovely night.

Well, outside, about six inches of snow had fallen and traffic was snarled, but when you travelled by web and all you could see from way up high was Christmas lights and snow, it was still a lovely night.

In MJ's apartment in the Village, it was an especially lovely night, and he still had a couple of hours before work, and then class.

A little time to roll over, take a little snooze with his beautiful MJ.

God bless us, every one.

"Peter, is there any chance that I can come and stay over at your new apartment, tonight? It's not that late, yet."

Wow.

That blew it.

Think fast, Spidey.

"I'm still unpacking. The place is a mess. Hey, is that the time? I better get my pants on. Can't be late for work. Crime never sleeps. It doesn't even get drowsy and nod out, once in awhile."

Good save.

"Pete, why are you in such a hurry, all the sudden?"

"I don't want to see anybody get mugged for Christmas. So, when can I see you again, MJ?"

"I don't think even muggers are going to be out on a night like this. Who are they going to mug? Each other? Stay with me. It's snowing. And freezing."

"I can't. Duty calls."

"And you have to answer. Okay. Well, how about I'll see you the day after tomorrow? Right after rehersal. That should give me some time to recover."

"I'm sorry, MJ. I love you so much, I just can't help myself, sometimes."

"I'm not complaining. Pete, you can stay, really."

"No I can't. Gotta go out and make a Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night. Goodnight, MJ."

He gave her a kiss, shoved his clothes into his bag and had his costume on and he was out the window before MJ could lodge another protest.

There was a very good reason that Peter couldn't have MJ over to his apartment and that was that he didn't have one, anymore.

Nor could he afford a dorm room; it would be hard to keep his secret safe in one of the NYU dorms.

The Harlequin, who had given him a job as her TA, had a Murphy bed in her office at NYU, a leftover from Liv's days as an alcoholic with a tendency to sleep where she fell.

She very rarely used it anymore, especially not at night, and Peter had a key to her office.

He slept there, and kept his costume there, knowing it would be safe, and used his student ID to get into the school gym to shower and shave.

Nobody had found him out yet, and nobody would, hopefully.

Meanwhile, he was saving every dime he had, eating only once a day, if that, and sometimes then on the charity of friends.

Or even sorta friends.

He was sitting at Grossmann's, in-costume, having an egg-cream, drinking it slowly, and drooling over the pastrami on rye with swiss that Wolverine, sitting at the next table, was having, along with some chips, and coleslaw, and a pickle and…

And Peter looked back at his plate when Logan realised he was looking at him.

"You hungry, kid?" Logan asked.

"I'm starving. I'm on this great new diet. I eat once or twice every two days and go out and fight crime. It's great. I'm losing lots of weight. At this rate, I'll be dead by Valentine's Day." Peter admitted.

Logan bought him lunch.

Peter ate half and took the other half back to the office for dinner.

Just thinking about eating made his stomach growl.

It was hard to be Spider Man on less than five bucks a day.

Even that old devil J. Jonah Jameson expressed concern.

Well, something like concern.

"Hey, Parker? Did you join the goddamn Moonies or something?"

"No sir."

"Are you on drugs? What are ya doin' with the money I'm paying you? You're not eating it. You look like hell."

"I'm saving up, sir. Hard times."

"Saving up? For what? Your funeral? Here's fifty cents. Go buy a couple hot dogs. You can't chase that fiend Spider Man on fumes."

Peter ate the two hot dogs, and that was all he'd had to eat the day before.

He needed every dime, because all he wanted for Christmas was this tiny little basement studio apartment on Bleeker, in the building that Max and Sophie Grossmann owned.

It was close to MJ, close to school, close to work.

You shared a bathroom with the other guy in the other basement apartment, and the guy upstairs on the same floor as the john, but it seemed like heaven to Pete Parker.

Meanwhile, it wasn't too busy of a night in the big city; too cold and too snowy, just like MJ said.

The only people he ran into were other masks, out on patrol; and it was bitter cold. He nearly froze, and ended up standing around a steel barrel full of burning trash with Rorschach for an hour or so, before Nite Owl arrived in his nice, warm Owlship, and was kind enough to feed Peter donuts and coffee, and let him take some home.

"Did you hear about the Comedian?"

"No. What did he do?"

"It's lousy, even for him. The President sent him off to Afghanistan on some crazy mission. He might not even be back by Christmas. You can imagine how happy Liv is about that. God only knows what she's going to do. So, watch your step, Pete."

"I will."

Rorschach and Nire Owl dropped him off near NYU, and thus it was that Spider Man knocked off early and Pete Parker unlocked the door of Liv Napier's office and put on the lights.

He hoped she wasn't going to blow three years of sobriety over this.

It was times like this made him think about a career as a pro wrestler.

He locked the door, walked across the room and pulled down the Murphy bed.

Peter took off his mask and sat down on the bed.

For one thing he'd have money.

Lots of money.

And fame, let's not forget fame.

Millions of people would love Spider Man, rather than mistrust him.

You'd have a warm place of your own to sleep and something to eat.

He tried to think of what Uncle Ben might have said.

He probably would have urged Peter to take the punch, and go back to living with Aunt May for awhile, until he could afford the room in the Village.

Pete flipped the switch that turned on Liv's ten million Christmas lights, as well as the lights on the little artificial Christmas tree in the corner.

He didn't begrudge it to her, or even to Eddie.

Their popularity.

Like most sane people, being in Eddie Blake's presence made him a little nervous, but if you weren't somebody he was planning on turning into a greasy spot, he wasn't such a bad guy.

Still, why was it that they could kill more people than cancer and they were loved and respected and he did his best not to seriously hurt anybody, and was feared and mistrusted?

New Yorkers.

You never can tell.

Pete left the Christmas lights on while he was sleeping; they were on a timer, and besides, they made him feel better.

His tingling spider senses shocked Peter awake, a few hours later.

Somebody was coming.

Not that you needed spider senses to figure this one out, it was the screaming in the hallway rather than the tingling of his spider senses that tipped him.

"…and I understand how you feel, Napalm, completely, but we you can't just go in and murder the man without having a plan…"

Calm, reasonable, sober voice.

"Bullshit! That son-of-a bitch! Things have been FUBAR because of him for a long fuckin' time! And this, this is the last motherfuckin' straw! I'd be doing the world a big fucking favour, that dirty cocksuckin' sunnuvabitch."

Loud, furious drunken voice.

His first thought was to go out the window, but he had his costume locked away, and it would look odd for Peter Parker to be clinging to an outside wall.

"You dropped your keys. No, I'll get them."

"Just what the fuck are we doin' here, anyway?"

Why did he take his costume off?

Oh, right, it was after two and he wanted to go to sleep.

Silly Spider-Man, sleep isn't for masks!

"Because we have to plan this out, first."

"Gimme the whiskey."

Key in the lock.

"You've had enough whiskey, you bad little pixie. God, good whiskey makes me so fucking horny."

Peter was still putting on his costume when the door opened and all the lights came on.

Having no other options open, he leapt into the tiny storage closet.

Definitely time to seriously consider Aunt May and Forest Hills.

**II: Mac**

John "Mac" McClatchey, proprietor and regular bartender at Trivelino Mac's, located in scenic downtown Bensonhurst, was well used to seeing his red-haired adopted niece, affectionately known to her closest friends as "Napalm" drunk.

She spent some of her worst moments as a degenerate alcoholic, drinking in his bar, and living above it in one of the flop rooms.

Liv had been such a drunk that everyone, her stepfather, her father, her friends, everyone who knew her, could count on her to be drunk all the time, and blackout drunk on occasion. They agreed with Mac that it was better for her to both drink and flop where he could watch over her, than have her lying drunk and bloody in the street after some bar brawl, whether the blood on her was hers, the other guy or guys, or both.

But that all ended in 1971.

Which wasn't to say that Liv quit drinking, on the S.H.I.E.L.D Moderation Program, you were allowed between 3 and 5 drinks per day, and, once every three months, permitted a special occasion.

Which also wasn't to say that Liv stopped fighting; the only thing that would put Liv Napier's fists down was the grave.

Nor was it to suggest that the violent, hair trigger temper which was the only flaw in her otherwise sunny disposition had gone anywhere.

It was just that it became blessedly rare that you had Liv drunk, angry, and violent.

But, she thundered in out of the snow on a full head of steam, half-crocked, with a spatter of fresh blood on her army parka, and the night was still young.

He was pretty sure it had to do with her old man being out of town for Chirstmas.

"Whiskey, Uncle Mac." She said, scowling at the crowd.

The regulars began to take defensive positions.

Mac set her up with a shot of Jack Daniels.

She looked at it like the glass was full of warm piss.

"I said whiskey, Mac! And leave the bottle."

"Bushmills 1608?"

"That's whiskey, ain't it?"

Mac brought his niece the most expensive Irish whiskey in the bar, a fresh bottle, and didn't bother with a glass.

"This your special occasion tis month? Because you're not blowing your sobriety on my watch."

"You bet it is, Uncle Mac. I'm gonna kill that cocksucker Tricky Dick Nixon, tonight."

"Really? Shit, it's on the house."

Napalm cracked the open the bottle, and took a slug.

"Alright, so, are any of you sonsabitches Republican sonsabitches? Because, if one of you fuckin' sonsabitches can kick my ass, I'll let that cocksucker Nixon live."

"I don't allow Republicans in my place." Mac reminded her.

"Hey, you crazy bitch, you can't just go threatening to kill the president! I'll bet I can knock your ass out."

The speaker, a man nobody had seen before that night, was a middle-aged fellow.

Rather beefy, shirt and tie, no jacket, and an overcoat.

German or Scottish, by the look of him, maybe both, and worse for him, he looked like he might be Napalm's type.

"Is that a fact? Well, Mr. Whoever-The-Fuck, come on over here and take your best shot."

"I'm not hitting a woman. Especially not a crazy drunk woman, with blood all over her clothes."

Liv grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels that she'd turned her nose up at, and threw it at the man, missing his head by less than an inch.

It hit the wall, and exploded.

The man swore, and ran for the door, and Liv laughed.

"Go ahead and run, you cowardly son of a bitch! You just missed your lucky night! Awww, fuck it. I'm gonna go over and see Steve. Steve don't like him, either. Merry Christmas, Mac."

Napalm put a hundred dollar bill on the bar, and left.

"What was all that about?" one of the regulars asked.

"The G called Eddie in for a mission. He might not be back for Christmas." Mac told him.

"Aww, shit. Poor Napalm."

"Poor Napalm? Try poor New York." Mac laughed.

**III: Steve**

It was just going to be one of those nights.

Bernie was having a party for some of her bohemian art school friends at their apartment, and it wasn't that Steve didn't like her art school friends, he just didn't understand one word that came out of their mouths.

And there was this one jerk that she knew, Tyler Something-or-Other, every time he came over, he had to pick a fight, over some nit-picking, meaningless, political horse hockey.

And Steve was a gentleman, he did not want to punch one of Bernie's friends right in his sanctimonious nose, even if the guy deserved it, especially not at Christmas time.

So, Steve intended to spend a nice, quiet evening at the Avengers Mansion, and return home, later.

He and Beast were having a nice, quiet conversation over a friendly game of poker in the TV room, when Tony's radioactive personal life went into meltdown.

Steve had already heard about his falling-out with the Black Widow; the result of which was a now-fading shiner.

All Tony had to say about it was that they had "ideological differences", and Steve didn't press the issue.

In his opinion, "ideological differences" probably meant that Natasha was getting tired of having to share Tony with another girlfriend, occasionally Napalm, and any number of casual conquests that Tony happened to accrue on the side.

That was the point at issue, indeed, when Bethany Cabe stalked through the TV room, in mid-rant.

"…alley cats have a better sense of morality than you do, Tony! Nobody is really sure whose side the Black Widow is on, this week, but that doesn't stop you! And, then, of course, there's your real one true love, the only woman on this Earth as cheerfully degenerate as you are, and even the Harlequin knows better than to even give you a regular day of the week! She probably doesn't want to get the crabs!"

Wrapped in a bedsheet, Tony followed her into the room.

"Bethany, please! For one thing, I only had the crabs, once, and I was a teenager. And for another, it's not as if I ever lied to you…"

"Shut up! Sometimes I wish you had! I wish you had the fucking decency to lie to me! I know this is usually reserved for women, Tony, but you are a world class slut! You know what your type is? She has to have a pussy, and a pulse! That's it! Well, I can't take it, anymore! You know what it means to be your girlfriend? It means you're a fool, and a joke, and I'm nobody's fool! So, until you think that you can at least make a tiny little effort to try something like fidelity, hell, I'd be happy with sharing you with only two or three other women rather than, oh, every girl in the world, then you're Mr. Stark, and I'm _Ms_. Cabe, and I'll see you at work!"

She left the room in a huff, and Tony wisely decided not to follow her.

"Always around the holidays! All year round, it's I'm OK, You're OK. I'm a Feminist, I'm Emancipated, and We're All Adults. But, no sooner does Macy's put up the Christmas windows, and they start showing Ebenezer Scrooge and _It's A Wonderful Life_ on the Late Movie, every woman I know wants to be Donna Reed, and they expect me to be Father Knows Best. Oh well. I like spending Christmas with Pepper. At least I can count on her not to go completely insane. Is this a private poker game?"

"No, but, you do have to be dressed." Beast told him.

"Hank, I do not have the crabs."

"Yeah, but neither one of us wants to play poker with a naked man in a bedsheet. It's weird." Steve explained

"Oh. Yes. Right."

Tony went and put on some clothes, and came back and joined the game.

Things had just quieted down, and Steve was winning when Hurricane Harlequin hit.

Liv blew in with her long hair loose and frosted over with snow, tracking mud and slush from her boots. Her coat and her lumberjack shirt, as well as her The Who tee shirt and Levi's, were spattered with flecks and spots of blood. She had a maniacal look in her eye as she took a swig from the bottle of top-drawer Irish whiskey she was carrying.

"Always around the holidays. Next time I see Dick Nixon, I'm going to punch him square in the nose."

"Steve, ya gotta go put your costume on! You an' me, we gotta do the right thing for our country! My country, love it or leave it, an' change it or lose it, we gotta go kill that cocksucker Tricky Dick!" she announced.

Beast chuckled and shook his head.

Steve tried to remain calm.

"Now, Liv, I don't like that crooked SOB any more than you do. I didn't vote for him last time, I won't vote for him next time, and you know that me and Clark, and Eddie and Nick at S.H.I.E.L.D are doing everything we can to keep this country together in spite of that moron. But, you can't just go and kill him. Especially not just because he's sent Eddie on a mission and he might not be back for Christmas. That was a lousy thing to do, but it doesn't quite justify homicide. Or treason."

Tony perked right up when he heard that.

No flies on Tony.

"That sunnuvabitch did it on purpose! He's forever gettin' Eddie to do his paranoid dirty work. It'd be different if it was really a fuckin' matter of fuckin' national fuckin' security! But it ain't. If it was, you'd know about it, and Nick would know about it! It's more of his fuckin' bullshit! An' the cocksucker coulda waited till after Christmas! Well, that's it! I'm done! I'll kill the motherfucker myself!"

"I'll help you, Napalm."

Steve gave Tony an incredulous look.

"Ya will?"

"Of course I will. And we'll off that idiot Ford, while we're at it. I always wanted to be President. This is my chance. You go wait in the car, and I'll get the suit."

"Okay." Liv said.

She smiled, put her bottle down, and trotted away.

"Don't look at me like that! Both of you. I know Napalm. I've seen her this drunk, before. Not often, but the point is, I'll handle this. I'll get her keys from her, and fly her to her office at NYU, on the pretence that we need to make a plan. School's out, there's six inches of snow on the ground, the place will be deserted, so she can rant and rave and scream her black little heart out. And, I happen to know she's got a Murphy bed in her office. I'll strategically remove a few items of my clothing, give her the old bedroom eyes, casually give her a pat here and a kiss there, and pretty soon she'll forget all about killing Tricky Dick. In the morning, she'll be sober and all on her own for Christmas…and so will I. God Bless Us. Every One."

Liv had left her bottle, and Tony took a drink.

Drink number three, actually.

"Wow! That's the good stuff. She never drinks cheap booze." He said, admiringly.

"I don't know if I'm completely disgusted, or extremely impressed." Beast replied.

"Tony, I'm your best friend, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, but, you really are some kind of asshole." Steve told him.

"Yes, but Napalm likes assholes. She's Eddie Blake's girlfriend. Would you rather have her go kill Nixon? When she's in this kind of mood…"

"I know, I know. Go. Go do that voodoo that you do so well." Steve said.

Tony practically flew out the door.

"Where did he get his Errol Flynn act, Steve?" Beast marvelled.

"From Errol Flynn. Howard Stark was a great man. He made great inventions, and great movies, but he was a rotten father. Flynn was his next door neighbour, and he sort of took charge of Tony's upbringing." Steve told him.

"That explains a lot. But I don't get it, Steve. He can have any woman he wants to. Any woman in the world. And, not that I think Liv is a disgusting old bag, but she's not his type. She's only five foot two, and she's got as many scars on her body as a Special Forces marine, and as many tattoos as a Hell's Angel. Wait. I forgot. She's a member of the Hell's Angels. And a First Sergeant with the Marines. Special Forces. Sure, she's got that little Irish pixie look, and well, a considerably big rack, but, why is he so obsessed with her?" Beast asked.

"Well, it could be that she's forever the One Who Got Away. And it might be, like Bethany said, that Liv's the only woman he's likely to meet who's as cheerfully degenerate as he is. Or it might be her great big Boeing 747 jet engine mind. It's just as big, and shiny, and crazy as his is. They're both like Dr. Frankenstein crossed with Tesla. I supposed it's probably a combination of the three." Steve opined.

Beast nodded.

"Oh well. It's my turn to deal."

**IV: Tony**

Hornier than a Viking helmet.

Randier than a junkyard dog during a full moon.

Hot to trot.

Ready for Freddy.

Good to go.

Hot and bothered.

Pick your cliché, any cliché, but Bethany hadn't the decency to finish what Tony was trying to start before she walked out on him, and Napalm in a wild drunken rage was so close to Napalm crazed with intemperate lust that the message that it was blood she wanted didn't quite make it to Tony's lower extremities.

An unwanted erection is never much fun, but it is considerably worse when caused by frustration.

And although it gave the phrase swelling with pride a whole new meaning when his conquests discovered that yes, on top of everything else, he could make a donkey cry, well, try finding a way to hide a 16 ounce beer can in your pants.

Now, try putting on an iron suit.

The worst part was, that in order for his plan to 1) keep Napalm from murdering the president 2) get laid and 3) feather his nest for the holidays, he needed to use a certain amount of finesse and savoir-faire, and be debonair and witty.

Feats which are very difficult to perform while sporting the equivalent of an 18-hour sleep hard-on, and the heavy, aching blue balls to match.

He was beginning to wonder if he wouldn't have to change his plans a little.

As in pull down the Murphy bed, strip, and hope that she was interested.

They managed to get in the door, and Tony locked the door and put down the briefcase in which he had the portable suit, and took off his coat.

"Whoa, camel! Hey, Tony, is that a can of Guinness in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?" Napalm chuckled.

"Don't start with me, Napalm. I'm in no mood for witty repartee. I have to plan the assassination of a major political figure, and I also have to try and think of something that will make my dick go down. You're not helping."

She laughed.

"Yeah. You came back here with me, to my quiet, deserted office with a tree growing out of your crotch in an iron suit so you could discuss politics? Pull the bed down, Tony. All the sudden, I don't feel like killing anyone right now."

Liv put the cap on the bottle, put the bottle on her desk, pulled the bed down with one hand, and with the other, she reached down the front of Tony's pants.

"You know what, Tony? That Dick can wait, but I don't think this one can..."

"...So, I get my Christmas present early? Gimme some sugar, baby."

You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss.

That was when Spider Man came out of the closet.

So to speak.

"Wait a minute! Stop the presses! If you guys are going to put in a Triple X Double Feature, the hell with working late."

What an absurd situation.

"Napalm…"'

"Don't worry about it, Tony."

Liv pulled her wallet on its chain out of her back pocket, and unhooked her keys.

She took a key off the ring and gave it to Peter Parker.

"This is the key to my room at Trivelino Mac's. It's not much, but it beats this. Go. We'll talk later."

"Wow, is this awkward. Uh, thnaks for the use of the room, Liv. I'm just going to go. Uh, I'd say don't do anything I wouldn't do, but, well, you guys are professionals."

With that last wisecrack, Spider-Man made tracks.

He closed the door, and locked it with his key.

"You know, Tony, I think Pete's homeless and he's living here."

"What? That's terrible!"

"I'll have to talk to him. Now, where were we? Oh. Right. Lemme pull the bed down."

"Did he lock the door?"

"Yes."

"What about we start on the desk?"

"There's no room on the desk."

"Then I'll sweep everything onto the floor. Then we can move things to the chair, and I'm sure we'll make the bed, eventually."

Tony carried Liv across the room, swept the desk clean with one fail swoop and a series of crashes.

He unzipped Liv's Levis and pulled them and her boxers off, and as she took off her shirt and undershirt, he just unzipped the fly of his jeans and got his cock out.

"You're going to have to call that foreplay, my dear." He told her.

Liv grabbed hold of the sweater he had on in two fistfuls, tore it in half and ripped it off his body, and shoved his pants down around his ankles.

"Ditto." She replied.

"You're so dirty."

"I know."

He couldn't help it, he had to kiss her, again.

Tony woke up in the morning feeling absolutely blissful, not at all like an asshole, or a selfish prick.

Napalm didn't see him that way.

For one thing, she was still lying in bed with him, on her side; the Murphy bed was too small for them not to be cuddled together, but in the two years since they had been mad geniuses with benefits, Liv had only so recently as just before Halloween started to actually sleep beside him in bed.

He held the distinction of being only the third man in world history that she would trust enough to literally sleep with.

Pepper always told him that he was both naturally generous and naturally selfish, which he could never figure out.

Just what was it about what he'd done that made him a selfish prick?

He headed Napalm off from a sobriety-shattering binge, short-circuited her mad plans to try and assassinate the president, brought her to her own bed in her own office, made love to her, slept beside her, and now he was going to offer to spend her beloved Christmas with her, so that she wouldn't be alone and miserable and tempted to go on said binge.

So it benefitted him, too?

Was that a crime?

"You look thoughtful this morning, Tony. Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I wasn't before you got on top of me, but, I am, now."

Over breakfast, at Grossmann's, Tony told Liv his sad tale of woe.

"Well, the way things go for me, there's my party onna 23rd. Onna 24th, I'm goin' to the big party you throw at the Avengers Mansion an' well if Eddie was home he'd be goin' with me. But since he ain't, yeah you an' me can go, together. On Christmas, I have dinner with my family, and later on, I got over to Paulie's place, in Bensonhurst, an' then at night, me an Eddie, we always got to the movies, downtown. Now, if he comes back, early, then I'll be goin' with him. But, before all that, and of he don't come home, yeah, I wouldn't mind a little you an' me. Whaddya do on Christmas Day?"

"Pepper and I exchange gifts, and then we go out for Chinese food."

Liv laughed.

"Sounds like fun. Well, I gotta go over to Trivelino Mac's and talk to Pete. See if I can get him out of the shit he's in. I think I'll bring him here, but him some breakfast."

"Good idea."

**IV: Peter**

As Liv drove him over the Brooklyn Bridge, in her old Ford panel truck, smoothly passing subcompacts floundering on the snowy pavement, she gave him the old third degree.

"Okay, Pete, what the fuck is going on? And don't bullshit me. I may not have spider sense, but you and me, we're in the same business. I'm Batman's stepdaughter and the Comedian's partner, I gotta be one hell of a detective. But, you didn't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure this one out."

"Was I that obvious?"

"To me, yeah. I suspected you was livin' in the office. For one thing, I can smell youse all over the place. You and Scott Summers bathe in Old Spice, and I know he hasn't been around. For another, there's always brown hairs on my pillow when I put the bed down to take my afternoon nap. I don't drink Pepsi, when I drink soda, I drink Coke. But there's Pepsi bottles in the trash. Not a lot of food containers, but the ones I find look like somebody's licked the wrappers. They usually come from that ratbag roach-a-rama Chinese joint up the street I wouldn't eat at if I was paid to."

"So, you got curious?"

"I got curious. I looked you up in the NYU directory. Says you live over on 110th street, in some shithole I been called to more than once. I know the super, there. I stopped by, mentioned you to him. He said you were a real nice kid, and it was a shame that dirty bastard fuck who owns the place kicked you out on your ass without giving you half a chance to pay your rent. So, I figured maybe you moved. Checked you out on S.H.I.E.L.D's database, and on Batman's. No known address. You got bounced last month and I figure you been livin' here ever since."

"Guilty as charged. Is that OK with you?"

"No, it's not! Jesus, Pete, where does your money go? Doesn't your Aunt get Social Security?"

"It's not Aunt May. You know they actually raised my rent in that dump? Then Jonah cheapened up on me. Raised his taxes, he says. And, thanks to Tricky Dick, my scholarship doesn't cover books and lab fees, anymore. Not to mention the high cost of web fluid, and I'm not even going to discuss my dry-cleaning bill. I got into some debt. Everything came due at once, and by the time I paid up everybody I owed for everything, I didn't have enough for the rent. But things aren't so bad. I've got a line on the basement flat in Mrs. Grossmann's brownstone on Bleeker and 6th. She's giving me a special rate, and I'm pretty close to getting my finances sorted out. I hope to be out of your hair by Christmas."

"Did you eat, today?"

"Are you kidding?"

"Then we'll go eat at Grossmann's, and talk to Sophie."

Liv slapped her American Express card on the counter, and Sophie Grossmann took one look at Peter without his coat on and immediately started feeding him.

Paulie, who sometimes worked the morning shift at Grossmann's, was behind the counter.

"You're a night owl, Pete. Ask Ma to hire you on for the night shift." Paulie suggested.

"That's no good. He has to sleep, sometime." Sophie reminded him.

"Maybe not for just a week. If you're stronger than you look, me and my Old Man, we got a line on a job doing some work where they're tearing down a building at the docks. This week only. It's cash under the table. Four days work, eight hours, 9 PM to 5AM. Five hundred bucks, in your hand, no questions asked, payable at the end of the job." Paulie offered.

"He's in school, Paulie." Liv reminded him.

"I used to do the occasional night job while I was in school." Paulie said.

Sophie gave a snort of disapproval.

"That's why you're not in school, anymore! You're so industrious this time of year. Why don't you just take the job, Paulie? Wait. I know. Anything's better than wages. What are you trying to do to me? Get me sued for hair in the bagels? Braid that beard, tie back that hair, put on your apron. Mind the counter, I have to talk to this young man, here."

Sophie sat down with Pete and Liv.

"Don't listen to Paulie. He's a good kid, but he's like his Uncle Eddie, a natural born bum. I would know. I've caught his act every Wednesday night since 1945. So, Mr. Parker, you're homeless, and you've been sleeping in Napalm's office, huh?"

Peter looked at his plate, ashamed.

"What's this, shame? Don't be ashamed in front of me. My Max grew up in the Bronx, with nothing, and I spent the war years in Europe living in barns and basements, when I wasn't with the resistance, before I joined up with the Invaders. I used to kill men for half-rotten grisly meat, and stale crusts of bread. To keep my boots, even. I know what it is to be homeless, broke, and desperate. Let me make you an offer. If you come in here, from four until seven, for the dinner rush, five days a week, including Saturday, and either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, you can move in right away, and we'll call you even for December. January's rent's due on the last day of the month, and if Napalm trusts you, then I can waive the security deposit. What do you say?"

"Mrs. Grossmann, I don't know what to say! Except, is that dinner rush job always available?"

"Certainly it is. Are you hearing this, Paulie? This is how a man sounds when he wants a job. Never mind. Please, Pete, Mrs. Grossmann is my mother in law! I'm Sophie and call my husband Max. The rules are, no dope, no explosions after midnight, make sure you make an agreement with the people you're sharing a bathroom with about a schedule, and don't try to move in or out between midnight and five AM. Okay?"

"Sure. Thank you, Sophie. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. Here are your keys. There's a fold-out couch in the main room, a dresser, and a table and three chairs. The water, the heat and the gas are all on, and in the kitchenette you've got a stove and a refrigerator. So, go home and go to bed, put this in the fridge and heat it up when you wake up."

Sophie pushed a bag at him, across the table.

A big bag.

"What's this?"

"Lunch. And dinner. You're dissolving before my eyes, Peter, you need to eat!"

Sophie went back behind the counter, directing Paulie to go in the back, and make some more coffee.

"See, Pete? I am Santa's Little Helper. I got you what you wanted for Christmas. I only hope Santa returns the favour, and brings me what I want." Liv commented.

"Eddie?" Spider-Man asked.

"Eddie." The Harlequin replied.


	2. Blue Christmas

**Chapter 2: Blue Christmas**

**Afghanistan, One Week Before Christmas**

**III: Eddie**

When Eddie was a kid, they didn't have much in the way of Christmas with Mick the Merciless, so he always made a point, as soon as he bumped off the old man and became the head of the family, to have about as much Christmas as a crazy family like his could muster.

There had been some pretty big fights during the big dinner at the house in Bensonhurst, over the years, but nobody ever ended up in the hospital, and if there was any shooting, it was into the ceiling, to get things quieted down.

But they counted on him.

After all, he was the head of the family, and hadn't missed a Christmas unless it was wartime, and now, here he was, stuck in a tent in the mountains of Afghanistan, with Vic Creed.

After Jimmy's tour in 'Nam was up, and he went back to Westchester, the powers that be stuck Eddie with Vic Creed.

Now Vic wasn't as good as what he did as his brother, Jimmy, mainly because Vic was vrazy as a shithouse rat. He actually reminded Eddie of Pop, a little. But still, the brass made him this deal that if he came to their little picnic in Southeast Asia, he'd bet that promotion for Major to Colonel he'd deserved since 1947.

But, just like everybody else involved with 'Nam, Vic got fucked.

He went back to the other side of the cape, but after a couple years of that he realised you couldn't fifth City Hall, and now he was trying to get back into the G's good graces, so he was getting all the shit assignments.

And, Major Edward M. Blake, USMC, late of the Invaders, Director of Covert Operations for S.H.I.E.L.D since 1954, the Comedian, was the only CO that had a hope in hell of getting Sabretooth to follow orders, since he was one of the few people on Earth that Victor Creed did not want to fuck with.

And that was how Eddie got fucked into this shitbag assignment.

They were supposed to burn down a poppy field, a favour for the Brits, and execute the towelhead who was in charge of it, as a favour to the Russkies, for whom, in Eddie's opinion, Dick did way too much ass-kissing.

"Hey, Vic. Is it still snowing?"

"Lemme check."

Sabretooth opened the tent flap.

"Yeah."

"Great. Tell me again why you couldn't fuckin' stick with fuckin' Magneto and the goddamn Brotherhood, so I could be in New York, givin' my girl the time under Bruce Wayne's Christmas tree, instead of stuck in this fuckin' tent with you. What, you lookin' for a good dental plan, or somethin'?"

"Hey, Sarge, you ever try the other side of the cape? I got to thinkin'. Jimmy, he's livin' in a mansion in Westchester, teachin' combat to teenage girls in gym shorts, shacked up with a genuine Nymph. He gets three squares a day, free beer, three rooms, prob'ly a private fuckin' bathroom, an' a steady paycheck. And what does he do? What he always does. Kill motherfuckers. I'm doin' the same thing for Magneto, and I'm livin' in a dump in the Bowery, eatin' mac and cheese, bangin' old junkie whores an' drinkin' cheap vodka. While Jimmy's get his back washed and his dick sucked by a broad who looks like the broad on the St. Pauli Girl bottle, drinkin' imported German beer in his bathtub big enough ta sink the Titanic in. Meanwhile, I ain't seen my woman in two fuckin' years. So I figured, fuck it, I'm comin' back in from the cold. And even after I was a good boy during my whole probation at the X-Mansion, I get stuck with this shit."

"Yeah, and I get stuck with you. The least they coulda done was stick me in a tent with some broad."

"Yeah, well, I'll bet ya that fuckin dope chieftain, he's gotta lotta broads."

"No thanks."

"Too close to a nigger?"

"Naah. Don't wanna get some fuckin' exotic disease. See if you can get on the radio, huh?"

"Okay, Sarge. Sabretooth to Fury. Come in, Fury. Sabretooth to Fury…"

After about fifteen minutes of that shit, Nick Fury's crackling voice finally came through.

"…job…done yet?"

"Negative. We're in the middle of a fuckin' blizzard."

"…Nixon…stupid…Christmas…what kind of asshole…Eddie…back soon…Tony Stark…Christmas party."

And the radio went silent.

"What? FUCK!"

The Comedian started suiting up in the winter gear, and arming himself.

"Get off your ass, Vic. We're goin' in. Now. Tonight."

"What? In this shit? You can't see your dick in front of you when you go out to piss, let alone see to drive."

Eddie pointed a flamethrower at him.

"Are you disobeyin' my orders, Creed?"

"No! Fuck, Sarge, what's the rush?"

"That fuckin' silver spoon cocksucker Tony Stark is movin' right in on my girl! At Christmas, yet! Motherfucker! I gotta get outa this Third World toilet, fuckin' ASAP."

Sabretooth shook his head.

"Now that's fuckin' low. What a fuckin' asshole! Ah well, fuck it. I'd rather be in the States spreadin' my paycheck around some decent booze than stuck in this shithole. Maybe I can even get taht son of a bitch truck fixed, draive back up to Chuck X's Mutant Heaven an' see my girl for Christman. What's your plan?"

"Fuck 'em. That's my fuckin' plan. We go in there, burn everything down, kill all the fuckin' dope-pushing sand nigger sonsabitches. Let their broads have what's left. The way these sawed-off little cocksuckers beat their women, they'll probably be glad we did it."

"How glad? Because I'm startin' to not care how close they are to black."

"I fucked some black broads, in my time. It's all pink on the inside, Vic. An' none of that rapo bullshit."

"Who me? I never hadda pay for it in my life, let along twist a frail's arm."

"Good. Let's move out."

Creed had to end up paying his fifty bucks to a Russian pilot to fly them from Kabul to Tel Aviv, where Eddie hooked up with an old comrade of Sophie Grossmann's in the Israeli Army who got them to London, where Nick Fury was waiting.

After he got paid, Sabretooth and his money disappeared, and Nick and Eddie flew back to DC, where an exhausted Eddie Blake had to get a night of uninterrupted sleep.

He reported back to Tricky Dick the next day, Christmas Eve.

"Jesus, Eddie, I never thought about taking you away from your girl and your family, at Christmas. I'll have you put up tonight, at the best hotel in the city, and we'll get you back to New York on an Air Force Jet, first thing in the morning."

"Not good enough, Dick. That fuckin' prick bastard Stark is movin' in on my girl. I gotta get there before he takes her to that fuckin' mask Christmas party, and makes me look like the biggest fuckin' moron in New York."

Tricky Dick rattled his jowls.

"Sunnuvabitch, Eddie, that's fucking low. We'll get you home ASAP."


	3. Logan Gets Scrooged

**Chapter Three: Logan Gets Scrooged **

**II: Logan**

They were all out there, putting up the Christmas decorations.

Logan stood in his window, looking out across the front lawn.

Every year it was the same thing, and this year one rogue sentinel didn't make a goddamn bit of difference.

The day after Eddie's nephews and Napalm came and cut it up and hauled it away, they were all out there.

Singing their Christmas songs and drinking hot chocolate and stringing up happy blinking lights and plastic glowing sculptures of Frosty and Santa and Rudolph, made in Japan.

They all looked happy.

He closed the curtain, and sat down on his bed.

Maybe what he needed was an old dead friend and three ghosts to bring him some Christmas spirit.

But, after you'd seen almost a hundred years worth of Christmases, and not many of them had been what you would call merry and bright, it would take a lot more than ghosts to scare up a Merry Christmas for you.

In the past, somebody always came up to his room, usually Mel, or Jeannie, and asked him to come outside, and at least watch, but, this year, nobody did.

Just like last year, when Logan sat there all night, waiting for Liv to show up and drag him to her Christmas party, and she never did.

He laid down in the bed, and pulled up the blankets.

It was cold, and he was tired, after all

"Logan? Are you really asleep?"

At least Jean came to the door.

Actually, she was in the room.

And he had the door locked.

And she was outside less than a minute ago.

"No."

"What is it you have against Christmas? And don't tell me about every lousy Christmas you ever had. I know you've had a pretty rotten life. But, then again, you always have your good stories to tell. So you must have had some good Christmases."

"How did you get in here, Jeannie?"

"Don't confuse me with the facts! Look, every year I come up here and ask you to come outside with the rest of us, and you stand there with your cigar in your teeth and scowl. Hell, we can see you in your window, scowling. You've got nothing to scowl about. You've got a home here, and a family. Hell, this year you've even got me. Mondays is better than nothing. Not to mention, the rest of the week, you've got a beautiful young girl, who loves you, and hasn't enjoyed Christmas since she came here because you have to Grinch it up every year. Mel keeps looking up at your window, every five minutes. And, your good buddy Napalm, who you always remind me, there's blood between you, she's like one of Santa's Little Elves. Why don't you do yourself a really big favour, and quit brooding about the past, before you miss all the good things going on in the present. We're done decorating, for today. Maybe tomorrow, you'll come out and join us."

Later, Logan took a ride into the city on his motorcycle, thinking about it, and when he drove by Grossmann's Diner and saw Cap and Eddie sitting inside, he parked the bike and went in.

"Well, look who it is. It's the fuckin' Grinch! You look taller on TV." Eddie said.

Logan got himself something to eat, and a beer, and went and sat with his old army buddies.

"Yeah, Jimmy's in his Christmas mood. Lousy." Cap agreed.

"What have you got to be merry about? You've got to go to Kabul with Creed tomorrow."

"Awww, fuck, that penny ante job? I'll be back way before Christmas. What's the matter with you, Jimmy? This ain't how ya usedta be. Remember, back in '44, when you and me and Sophie—hey, Soph, you remember Christmas in '44?"

Sophie Grossmann came out from behind the counter, and walked over to their table.

"Sure I do. It was Christmas Day, and the fifth day of Hanukkah, and you and me and Jimmy, we spent it inside a tank. I was so miserable. And so were you, Eddie. But this one, here, he was jolly St. Nick." Sophie recalled.

Eddie laughed.

"He got all out lousy K-Rations out and arranged them like they was a big dinner, and lit a coupla candles, and started singin' fuckin' Christmas songs. I'm tellin' ya, Cap, this guy singin', it was so goddamn funny, I couldn't help but laugh. We had this one bottle of lousy German wine, and Jimmy started tellin' us a story about his Old Man, an' this one Christmas, and we all got drunk, and before long we was all singin' Christmas songs and laughin' like we was at home in New York. You forget that, Jimmy?"

"No. I remember that one. And I remember the one Christmas I spent with my Old Man."

Sophie sat down.

"Tell Cap the story. C'mon, Logan, do it for me. I'll give you free food until Christmas. But you still gotta pay for the beer, or we'll be outa business."

Logan didn't see the harm in it.

"I must have been about 12 or 13 years old, I think. And I was gettin' wild, literally. I didn't like wearin' fancy clothes, and eatin' fancy food, and stayin' in the manor house, and at Christmas, Jesus, it was a hundred per cent worse. So I made out like I was goin' off to see some friend in the village that I made up, and what I did was, I went to see Pa. I've forgotten a whole lotta things, but I'll always remember the look on his face when he opened the door, and there I was with a dead deer in a sled behind me, sayin' "Merry Christmas, Pa!" We skinned that deer, an' dressed it, and Pa an' me roasted it outside on a spit, an' then we sat in the kitchen of his cabin', an' we ate venison and baked potatoes until we was about to burst, an' Pa he gave me my first beer. He used to make it himself, and I think I had five or six of them before I passed out. When I woke up the next morning, I was in Pa's bed and he was sleepin on the rug by the fire with a blanket over him, an' I looked around his cabin and I knew he was right. Whatever it was anybody tried to make me, I would be what he was, because I was his son, and blood rules out in the end. An' that suited me, just fine. One of the best damn Christmases I ever had." Logan recalled.

"See, Cap? Now I dare youse not to feel all fuzzy and Christmasy, hearin' that shit." Eddie declared.

"That's a good story, Logan. That's the kind of memory you should hang onto. Pardon me for saying it, but you always seem to brood over your bad memories, and forget about the good ones. Your father's still living, isn't he?" Cap replied.

"Who, Black Tom? Sure he is. But old Scrooge here probably won't even call him."

Logan thought about it, driving out of the city, and, on a whim, he decided to visit Napalm at Wayne Manor, even though it was only Tuesday.

She was up on a rickety ladder in front of the little porch that jutted out from the side of the house, over the entrance to her rooms, the former servants quarters, whistling a Chuck Berry tune and hanging Christmas lights with a staple gun.

Every time she used it, the ladder wobbled.

"Lemme hold onto that, for ya, darlin'. You can't be Santa's Little Helper in the hospital."

"Logan! What are you doing here?"

"I was just passin' through."

He held the ladder for her until she was done, and then they went back into her rooms, which were decked out like Macy's.

Lights everywhere, garland, paper chains, little Christmas trees and Santas and snowmen and reindeer, all garish and glowing and bright and shiny and flickery and twinkly.

And a little real tree in the corner by the TV, decorated merrily.

"I'm freezin'. I'm gonna have a pot of tea. You wanna cuppa tea?"

Logan sat down at the kitchen table.

"Why not?" he said.

He was pretty quiet while the kettle was going.

"So, you're havin your party on the day before Christmas Eve, like usual?"

"Yeah. Everybody else I invited, they already said they was coming. Paulie will be here, and Rosie, and Skinny and Big Benny. And it's the one time all year you get Tony and Eddie in one room without any death threats. And Dick always comes down for awhile, and Laurie's comin', and Pete usually shows up, an' I get a lot of walk-ins and walk outs. And we're all gonna eat too much an' drink too much, an' play the radio too loud an' everybody's gonna laugh like an idiot and make asses of themselves and have a good time. Which you missed, last year.

"Yeah, I know. What's that Avengers Mansion party like?"

"Shit, Logan, are you kiddin' me? It's a real fuckin' trip. Every mask in New York, pretty much, showin' up in their costumes, gettin' loaded, people makin' passes at each other, runnin' up and down the stairs, talkin' shop and tradin' tall tales and all kindsa crazy shit. Somebody always does something really fuckin' nuts. Last year Clark and Ben, yunno, Ben Grimm, they had a contest for who was the strongest, just kept pilin' up shit on each other's shoulders. Stacked all the way to the ballroom ceiling. The year before, Tony and Natasha had this huge fuckin' fight, you know them, off again, on again, and he blasted down one of the chandeliers and she threw it at him. But, when everybody left that night, she went home with Tony, so I guess all's well that ends well. Not to mention it's your one and only chance to see Superman get shit-faced. And Clark is really silly when he's drunk."

Logan quietly drank his tea.

"Sounds like I'm missin' somethin'."

"You're missin' a lot." Napalm told him.

After he left Wayne Manor, Logan drove back to Westchester, and parked himself at the bar at the Thruway Tavern, where he remained, for most of the night.

They even put up Christmas decorations at the Thruway.

Around closing time, Logan drove back to the X-Mansion, and went to sleep.

He had the strangest dream.

Silver Fox came to him in his sleep.

He tried to speak to her, but she wouldn't talk.

She wanted him to follow her, so he went.

In his dream, it looked like the kind of thing you see in a movie, when people travel through time.

They ended up in Christmas, someplace.

Clearly someplace Liv was, because the place was decorated in her style, and there he was, trying to wrap a Christmas present.

There were a whole pile of them under the tree, and he put his two beside them.

One said "Jack" on it, and the other said "Tommy."

"That's me! Where am I? What's this?"

"It's your future. The one you've always wanted. The one I could never give you. This is the best I can do. I know the world's been unkind to you, Jim, but don't lose hope. What's life without hope?"

She led him into another room, and he and Liv and Eddie were there, drinking spiked eggnog.

He saw his future self, reacting to a noise from a room down the hall, a noise only he could hear.

"There they go. I'll take care of it."

Logan followed his future self, and watched as he walked down the hall and intercepted a little red-haired, green-eyed boy that otherwise was the spitting image of him, trying to escape his bedroom.

"Where d'you think you're goin, Tommy?"

"To see if Santa came. How'dja know I was awake, Pa?"

"Jesus, Foxy! That's my son!" he gasped.

"Yes, Jim. Yours and Liv's."

His future self was talking to his son.

"I could smell ya thinkin' about gettin' up even before I heard ya move the covers. Go back ta bed. You know Santa won't come as long as you're awake. An' that goes double, for you, Jacky. I see you tryin' to sneak out while your brother keeps me busy."

This little boy, he had red hair and green eyes, too, but he looked even more like Eddie than Paulie did.

"That's Eddie's kid? We both had a kid with Liv?"

"Twins."

"Twins? Is that possible?"

"This whole future is only just possible. But if you become bitter, like your brother, what I'm showing you will remain just a dream."

In the dream, Logan watched himself shepherd both of the boys back to bed, and go back into the kitchen, and another shot of spiked eggnog with Eddie and Liv.

"It's hard not become embittered, Foxy. Having just a little time with Jean almost hurts more than not having her at all. And if ya wanna know the truth, the thing that gets me about this time of year, is thinkin' about my family. My real family. Pop. And my brother. It didn't help havin' Vic around for six months. Part of me still looks at him and sees my big brother, who raised me, an' I wanna feel about him the way I used to. But I can't. Not after what he did to you. And that's just for starters."

"What became of Victor wasn't your fault, Jim. Or what became of me. And you should be glad for the friends and the family and the love that you have, instead of lamenting what you've missed?"

"So, you can't always get what you want, but you find, sometimes, you get what you need?"

Silver Fox smiled at him, and led him back down the tunnel.

"Something like that, Jimmy."

He woke up in the rosy glow of the dream, and seeing Foxy again, with the morning sun just coming in the windows.

Logan rolled over and picked up the phone.

It was 5AM at the logging camp on top of the mountain.

Time for work.

"Howlett Timber Company, Fritzy Reinhardt speaking. Who ist up this early bezides us loggers?"

"Just me, Fritzy. But it's eight, here in New York."

"Lying in bed all day, huh, Logan? How ist my Mel?"

"Yeah, Fritzy. She's fine. Is the old man around, or is he still up on the mountain?"

"He's down here, earnink his Chrisztmas drinkink money. I'm lookink right at his ugly mug right now, mit ze coffee. He's turnink the cream sour. Hey Tom, izt your boy."

The phone changed hands, and a familiar gruff Irish brogue came down it.

"That you, Jimmy lad? Don't tell me you've called your bastard old father to wish him a happy Christmas, ya Scroogey sunnuvabitch! I'll have me a bastard heart attack."

"You and Fritzy busy on Christmas, Pa?"

"No more'n usual. Why?"

"Well, you think you wanna come down here?"

"What? And have your fancy friends sittin' down with Old Black Tom, the oldest, meanest drunkest Mick sunnuvabitch in North America?"

"Well, Pa, that would make me the second oldest, meanest, drunkest Mick sunnuvabitch in North America, so yeah, why not?"

"Fritzy! We got invited to the big fuckin' mansion for Christmas. Well? Don't say no, you bastard!"

"Us? At ze X-Mansion? I'll haff to buy a zuit."

"Bugger your bastard suit! I'm not buyin' a suit! Jimmy, lad, d'you even own a suit?"

"Yeah, on the off chance I get married or die, or if I hafta go to a wedding or a funeral, but I ain't wearin' any fuckin' suit for Christmas. Fuck that. I put on a clean shirt, and a clean undershirt, and a clean pair of jeans, and I polish the mud off my boots."

"See? Ya don't need a fuckin' suit, Fritzy. Are you drunk, boy? You been watchin' those Scrooge movies on TV?"

"No. I just, hell, I dunno, Pop. Gotta have good times while you can, right?"

"That's right, Jimmy. Because I don't have to tell you, it's a bastard rotten life. Well, I got work to do, I'm hangin' up. I'll have the little woman do some washin', an' we'll head out in the truck."

"That's a long drive, Pop. We gotta get down here."

"What? Jet my arse! I gotta go along with a whole lotta crazy bastard bullshit in this crazy fuckin' century, but I draw the line at flyin'. We'll drive. Fritzy's Austin can make it through anything."

"You still with that same French an' Indian girl? Zoe?"

"Sure am. I ain't stupid, with women the way you are, Jimmy, lad. Well, I got work to do. I'll be seein' yer, soon."

"Yeag, well, G'bye, Pop."

"G'bye, Jimmy lad."

You could have even knocked Peter over with a feather when Logan came out the front door with a string of Christmas lights over his arm.

"Well? What the hell are you all lookin' at?" he asked them.

"A Christmas miracle." Scott commented.

"Like on TV." Jean added.

"Yeah. God bless us every one. OK, Pete, lemme have that staple gun and throw me up on the roof. The Elf looks like he could use some help, up there."

Logan was pretty surprised, the first thing Kurt did was embrace him.

"I prayed for you, my friend, that you would find your way back to us, at this time of year."

"He always answers your prayers, Elf."

"You should try it, sometime, Logan."

"One thing at a time, okay?"

"Yes. Okay. Now, we need to wrap these around the chimney, and whatever you do, don't bump the TV antenna. I have it just right so I get all the stations I want."


	4. Have Yourself A Merry Little XMas

**Chapter 4: Have Yourself A Merry Little X-Mas?**

**Three Days before Christmas, 1974, Westchester, New York**

**I: Black Tom**

"That's right, you sonsabitches! Two crackers in an old truck, ain't they bastard funny? Who's funny now it's snowin'?"

"Tom, roll up ze vindow. I sink ze're all sorry, enough." Fritzy suggested.

"Look at 'em all, out there. Stuck in a rut!"

"Zoe, please." Fritzy appealed to Tom's girl.

He didn't appreciate Black Tom's nastiness.

That was because he wasn't old enough to know the world for what it really was.

"Let him go, Fritzy. He's just having a good time. Let the old man gloat, a little." Zoe replied.

They had begun their journey from the logging camp outside Howlett, British Columbia in Erik "Fritzy" Reinhardt's 1946 two and a half ton black Austin panel truck with chains on it's massive snow tires three days ago, and were presently plowing through a snowy pre-dawn down the New York Thruway.

They blew past a battered black Chevy pickup, with two flat tyres, moored in a snowbank, in a spreading pool of grimy motor oil.

And kept on going.

A few minutes later, they passed the owner of the truck.

"You zee, Tom? Ist not zo funny. Zat poor man, zere, walking down ze side of ze road? In zis veather? I'll bet he's not laughink."

Zoe leaned over Fritzy.

"Look at the size of him, Fritzy! He's almost as big as you."

"I sink he's a serviceman. Look, you can zee ze insignia on his parka. A Major, I sink. But I never zaw a military man who had zuch long shaggy hair."

Tom snapped to attention.

"Wait. We just passed a seat up black Chevy pickup a mile or three back, and there's a man as big as Fritzy wearing an army parka with Major's insignia on it, who has long shaggy blond hair?"

He rolled don the window and sniffed the air.

"Son of a bitch! Fritzy, stop the truck!"

"Why?"

"Because I can only think of one man who fits that description! Stop, stop, right fuckin' now, goddamn it!"

Fritzy wrenched the wheel, and pulled over onto the side of the road, in a spray of snow, and slushy salt.

Tom opened the door and leapt out of the truck.

"Victor! Vic, my lad!" he shouted.

The man on foot quickened his pace, until he had caught up with the truck.

"Pop? Holy fuckin' shit, Pop! What the hell are you doin' here?"

"I'm goin' to see Jimmy lad for Christmas."

"Yeah? I'm goin' to see my girl. Jimmy too, the little runt prick."

"Don't talk about your brother like that! Now, c'mon, get in the bastard truck, boy! Ya look half-frozen, to be sure!"

They took the Westchester exit, and Fritzy got out the map.

They were pretty sure they were lost, even though Victor told them they were on the right track.

Then the badly-paved road fed into a huge driveway, and they drove up to a pair of giant iron gates that enclosed a huge courtyard, and an immense stately old mansion, covered in a picturesque blanket of snow, and festooned with welcomingly twinkling Christmas lights and displays.

"Fuck me! Look at this place, Zoe! Jimmy's really moved up in the world." Tom commented.

"Zis place is huge! Like a palace!" Fritzy agreed.

"You're tellin' me! I mean it, Pop. Now I've seen how the other half lives, I'm gonna be a good boy."

"You had better, Vic. If you pick some stupid fuckin' brawl with your brother, on the first Christmas we've all spent together in seventy fuckin' years..."

_**SHUNK!**_

"...I'll shove these claws right up your arse!"

"Okay, Pop! Jesus! Jimmy's the one picks the fights with me. He goddamn blames me for everything that ever went wrong in his whole fuckin' life."

"I don't fuckin' care! You're the older brother, it's up to you to act like a fuckin' man. Now, how the fuck do we get in here?"

"Push the button on the grey box, Pop. The red one."

Tom pushed the button.

Nothing happened, so he pushed it again.

Then, there was a click.

"Hello, there. Are you a delivery truck, or have you gotten lost?"

Fritzy and Tom looked at each other, and then realised the voice came from the intercom box on the gate.

"Well, Vic, my boy? Say something?"

"Who, me? They were all glad to see the back of me, Pop."

"Well, I'm not bastard sayin' a word! You know your brother. He prob'ly got drunk an' forgot to tell them we was coming."

Fritzy decided to cut the argument short.

"Hello. Sorry to arrive zo early in ze morning. I'm Erik Reinhardt, and I'm here mit Tom Logan. His son, Jimmy, lives here. Zo does my daughter, Mel. Jimmy invited us to zpend Chriztmas mit you, and ve happent to run into hir bruzzer, Mr. Creedt on ze vay." He shouted.

He wasn't sure if he had to shout, or not, actually.

They were greeted by a long silence.

"Lemme guess, Charlie. Logan didn't tell you shit."

"No, Victor, he didn't."

"Yeah, I thought so. Look, it's like the Yukon out here. I don't think we could make it out if we wanted to. And ya know I won't make no trouble, at least not now, when I'm so close to gettin' my goddam promotion. And not with Stripe bein' around."

"An my Jimmy, he's always tellin' me how you never turn a mutant away. I got a whole truck full of 'em, and one's a woman." Tom added.

"Well, of course you can stay. We've got a generator in case the power goes out in this blizzard, and there's plenty of food and room for everyone. I just wish Logan had said something . Let me open the gates for you. I'll send Henry to show you where to park. You can't miss him, he's over six feet tall, and covered in blue fur."

Beast did not snicker at all at the two lumberjacks walking through the mansion, looking around like they were in a museum.

He wanted to, but he didn't.

It wasn't their appearance that was funny; Beast was used to the boots, jeans, lumberjack shirt, white undershirt uniform.

On the other hand, under his battered parka, Victor Creed was immaculately attired in a black Armani sportcoat, a tailor-made white button-down shirt, and black Levi's with gold stitching.

He'd held up the parade spending ten minutes in the bathroom cleaning all the mud and salt off of his expensive Frye Engineer's boots, and combing out his hair and beard.

The contrast between Victor's well-dressed, well-groomed neatness and Logan's more casual attitude was as great as the contrast between the two lumberjacks.

Fritzy Reinhardt was almost seven feet tall, and he was bigger than Creed, almost bigger than Hank was; the blond-haired, blue eyed, blond-bearded man was a veritable giant.

He shook Beast's hand with great alacrity, insisting everybody just call him Fritzy.

By contrast, Thomas Logan was roughly the same height and build as his son.

There was some grey in his thick black hair he wore longer, and he sported an old-fashioned Wyatt Earp kind of moustache with his distinctive beard, but other than that, his son was the image of him.

"Are you starin' at me, big fella, or at my Zoe? Because you can look at my ugly mug all day long, but you better not…"

"Tom, don't start. I'm Zoe Blackfeather, and I'm sure you've figured out that my charming companion is Thomas Logan. Otherwise known as Old Black Tom."

The woman spoke English with a French accent, and another accent her couldn't identify, but she had a Native American look, and a Blackfoot name, so Hank imagined that must be the influence of her tribal language.

Hank figured that everyone would be asleep, but, when he took his guests into the kitchen for something to eat after the long journey, a flick of the light switch revealed Logan, half-dressed and standing in front of the refrigerator, drinking milk out of the carton.

Logan put the milk carton down when he saw them.

"Lookin' good, runt. You washed those shorts, this month?"

"Awww shit, Pop, what's this, a goddamn family reunion?"

_**SHUNK!**_

"That'll be about enough out'r you, Jimmy, lad. I told your brother the same thing, and if you two have another one of your goddam homicidal grudge matches, an' bugger up the first Christmas we all spent together in seventy years, well, I don't hafta tellya where these claws are gonna go."

Beast, like the Harlequin, always thought that Logan's claws were a natural part of his skeleton, but seeing that his father had six long, sharp, wicked-looking bone claws just about proved that hypothesis.

Wolverine and Sabretooth scowled at each other.

"Just because Pa's here, Vic."

"That's right, runt. Any time in January, you name the place, I'll paint your guts all over it."

"You an' what army?"

Old Black Tom stood between his sons, and pushed them away from each other.

With his claws.

Beast winced.

"Smarts, don't it? I told you, didn't I? And you boys know what? I consider that a fight. Oh, I know that bastard look, Vic, my lad! You just try and to throw down with your old Pa! Neither of you boys got the stones for that. I'll tear you up so bastard bad, you'll spend your Christmas rearrangin' your innards! Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, Pa." Logan gasped, dutifully.

"Yes, Pa." Victor gasped, reluctantly.

Black Tom pulled his claws out of his sons, and sheathed them.

"Jesus, Pop, now I gotta change my shirt! This was a hundred dollar shirt! Fuck!"

"That'll teach yer to be such a dandy, Vic my lad."

Black Ton turned to Beast, wiping his hands on his jeans.

"That was his mother he got his good looks and his smart taste in clothes from. Not me."

Hurriedly Victor took off his jacket and his shirt, and grabbed a kitchen towel and held it to his wound, waiting for it to heal.

Logan cursed and winced a little, and bled onto the floor.

"Well? Don't just stand there, holdin' onto your guts like a couple of nancy boys! Clean up this mess, kids gotta eat in this kitchen."

"I vill clean up ze mess. Giff me ze shirt, Victor, it is already rags." Fritzy volunteetred.

"Let 'em do it themselves, Fritzy! I know I didn't stick me claws through any vital organs."

Black Tom made sure his sons cleaned up their mess.

"You boys got lodgings, here?"

"Yes, Pa." Logan said.

"Good. Go to 'em. And don't worry about meetin' your girl in just your trousers, Vic, my lad. She'll have them off as well, soon enough."

That put a smile on Sabretooth's face.

"You bet she will, Pa."

Victor and Logan gave each other one more dirty look for good measure, and went their separate ways.

Black Tom turned to Beast, again.

"They won't give you no trouble while I'm around. So, where do me and the squaw bed down?"

**Wayne Manor . December 23 1974 **

**I: Logan**

Logan bit his lip so as not to laugh at the look on his father's face when he saw Wayne Manor.

"Another fuckin' palace? You see this, Vic my lad? Wot did I tell yer boys? Rich girls. Get yourself a woman with money. You brother listens to me? Why can't you?"

"Because I got my own, money, Pop. I was livin' in the goddamn Bowery because I was layin' low. I got a penthouse on Fifth Avenue so high the only windows I can see are Tony Stark's, across the street. This suit I'm wearin' costs more money than Jimmy earns in a year. He needs a woman with money, because in almost a hundred years, he hasn't saved enough up to get a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of." Victor explained.

"I got a lot more outa my life than a pile of fuckin' money!" Logan protested.

"Like what? A bad booze habit, a milli9n cases of crabs, and a whole buncha pictures of frails who either stabbed you in the back or died on you? I remember your whole life, Jimmy. You're a goddamn bum, an' you like it that way. An' Red, shit, she's the same way. Her stepfather's a multimillionaire industrialist. Wayne had this whole part of the estate renovated for her to live in. And her brother, too, so's Grayson can keep an eye on her. An her father's the only non-Italian on the Commission, and he's the dictator for life in the Society of Supervillains. And she invented and patented the only known method of making adamantium alloys, which is gonna make her a zillionaire in her won right once it gets rollin'. Meanwhile, the kid wears the same pants every day for two weeks, probably owns a total of ten shirts, and spends half the time in some flop room in Bensonhurst. Two peas in a pod!" Victor retorted.

"There's something to be said for the simple life, Vic."

"Pa lives the simple life. You and Red like to live like a couple of bums. If it wasn't for me and the Sarge, and Chuck X, you'd both be down at the Salvation Army drinkin' rubbing alcohol and singin' 'Jingle Bells' off-key."

"At least I don't go prancin' arond worryin' about how much mud I get on my shoes or the spots on my shirt, like I was some kinda fairy!" Logan retorted

"Fairy? Are you callin' me a queer?"

"You act like a queer!"

Pa was merciful.

Instead of clawing them, he grabbed Victor by the hair, pulled him down to Logan's level and smacked their heads together as hard as he could.

"Enough! Now, are you sure your friend won't mind you bringin' me an' your brother, Jimmy lad?"

"Who, Red? Shit, with the Sarge outa town, an' it bein' Christmas, she'll probably drink a six-pack of Newcastle Brown and a fifth of Johnnie Walker Black and ask us all to go to bed with her." Victor laughed.

"Well, she's your brother's lady friend, Vic, my boy, you let him go first." Tom reminded his son.

Logan was about to express his disbelief when the front door opened.

The sound of Albert King playing with the Stax house band blasted out of the doorway of Liv Napier's entrance to Wayne Manor, and it was filled with Paulie Blake, dressed in a pair of tighty whities.

There was a smear of red lipstick partially on the waistband, and partially on Paulie, and he had a fat joint the size of a cigar in one hand and a beer in the other.

"Hiya, Paulie. Ah, my Pa an' my brother were in town, so I brought them." Logan explained.

"Huh? Oh, right, man. That's cool. C'mon in."

"Where's the broad who was attached to that lipstick?" Victor asked.

"Oh, that's Rosie. Ya ever met Rosie?"

"Should I have?"

"Everybody in your line of work knows Rosie. On both sides of the cape. Ya ever been to the nudie booth at the Porn Emporium on the corner of Times Square an' 42nd Street?" Paulie asked.

"Yeah. Wait, you mean that cute little broad who lets you in the booth with her if she likes you?"

"That's her. She's wild as hell, but she's my girl."

"And that's alright with you, lad?" Black Tom asked.

Paulie laughed his Eddie-sounding laugh.

"Sure. If she's gettin' down with whoever she wants to, I can get down with whoever I want to. Dig?"

Paulie just sort of wandered off.

Logan explained to his father who the other partygoers were.

"That tall skinny Italian lookin' guy, that's Skinny. He's Paulie's best friend. Paulie's Eddie's nephew. And that guy over by the TV, the one with the big nose in the jeans and the undershirt with the pinstriped jacket and the George Raft hat? That's Frankie Bear. He's also Eddie's nephew. Skinny lives with his family. Nobody knows who Skinny's family is. They threw him out cos he's a mutant. But he can pass, so he does. The great big guy with the glasses, that's Big Benny. His Ma and Pa run this deli in Manhattan on 5th Avenue that all the masks go to. And that blond guy with the shaggy hair inna fatigue pants, that's Slim MacLeod. Him and Liv were in Nam with me an' Eddie. He went bad, but she helped him get his shit together. The guy in the suit he's talkin' to, that's Liv's brother, Dick Grayson. He's Robin. An' see the girl who's poundin' on the bathroom door an' screamin'? That's Laurie."

"Eddie's daughter? The superhero?"

"Yeah, Pop."

"Who's that blue fella in the black shorts comin' out of the kitchen?"

"That's Dr. Manhattan."

"No shit? Really? Huh, I didn't think he'd be quite so blue in person."

"Hey Jimmy, you know who those three broads are Frankie's talkin' to?"

"No idea, Vic."

"I'm gonna go find out."

"So, anyway, this is Liv's crew. Her, yunno, her gang."

"Her people?"

"Yeah."

"Where's she?"

"Prob'ly inna bathroom."

Just as Logan was closing the door, Liv came out of the bathroom like a bullet popping out of a gun.

"Logan! You're fuckin' here!" she yelled.

She launched herself across the room and crashed into him, knocking them both back against the door.

It wasn't as if she was completely dressed, or anything, but that didn't both Logan so much.

What bothered him was that she seemed to be in the middle of a weeklong drunk.

A few minutes later, Tony Stark emerged from the same bathroom, looking a bit worse for wear, but still remarkably well put together, all things considered.

"Here's your jeans, Liv."

"What? Oh yeah, right. Hold my drink. Thanks."

She braced herself against Logan's shoulder to put on her pants.

"Hiya, Mr. Logan. Nice to see youse, again! I would say it's nice to see youse, Vic, but it's never nice to see youse. Just kiddin'! Hey, I invited your old lady, so you better go inna bathroom an' wash that cheap perfume smell offa youse, hangin' around with those mask groupies Frankie brought. Listen, the food's inna kitchen. I gotta go make sure nobody's' fuckin' in Dick's bedroom. That'd really piss him off."

Liv reeled away.

About ten minutes later, Rogue showed up, and as Victor did not do a good job of ridding his clothes of the smell of cheap perfume, she had her claws out almost immediately.

Sabretooth, who never backed away from a fight, had his talons unsheathed just as fast.

"So, this is what you call comin' all the way from Afghanistan to see me? Mah ass!"

"Look, baby, I can't help it if women won't leave me alone."

"Really? I can fix that for you!"

"I'd like to see you try it!"

Logan pushed between them.

"Hey! This is Liv's place an' she was nice enough to invite us all here! If you two gotta fight, take it outside in the snow." he insisted.

Rogue and Sabretooth went outside.

A few minutes later, Logan looked out the window, but he didn't see them, or any blood on the snow, so he figured they had made up.

Which brought Logan back to his original concern.

Liv.

He went to find somebody who was reasonably sober.

Laurie was a good bet for that.

"Have you seen Liv?" she immediately asked him.

"Not for awahile."

"Boy, am I glad you showed up! She's really goin' off on a bender, that that asshole Stark, he's cheerin' her along and buyin' all the drinks!"

"I noticed. Do you know what the hell happened to Eddie?"

"Eddie? How the fuck should I know? Listen, I heard him and your brother, they both hit California at the same time, but he hadda go to DC to report to the President, and then there's this blizzard we had. But..."

Laurie looked pointedly at Tony Stark.

"...Tony had better watch himself. Because Eddie told me he'll be here tomorrow to take Liv to the big party at the Avengers Mansion, even if he has to commandeer a tank."

Logan had to laugh.

"Turns out you know a lot about what Eddie's gonna do."

"Yeah, well, somebody has to look after Liv while Eddie's gone. Guess who else he nominated?"

"Yeah, I kinda figured that. I guess its' time to make that phone call to sunny California?"

"What? How's Tony's stepfather going to get out here in this mess?"

"Blood's a teleporter, remember?"

"Are we still keeping up with that shit? He's not undercover anymore! For Christ's sake Jon just took me to see his latest movie!"

"He'll be undercover for this shit. Go find Liv."

The party continued on into the wee hours of the morning, when Frankie fell off the ceiling fixture and crashed to the floor, bringing Bruce Wayne up in the elevator, looking angry.

"Alright, that's it, the party's over! All of you, out! Out, out, out! Especially you, Tony! Go home and sleep it off! I want everyone's car keys, and I mean it! I'm calling cabs for everybody, you can come back for your cars in the morning!"

"Mr. Wayne, ah have not imbibed, for just this reason. May ah take Mr. Logan an' Victor an' Logan back to the X-Institute?" Rogue asked him.

"I'm stayin' here. I got word from Eddie." Logan announced.

"Eddie ain't the boss of me an' neither are you, Logan." Liv protested.

Her stepfather grabbed her by the arm.

"You want to make a bet, Trivelino? Eddie's the boss of you, Logan's the boss of you, and I'm the boss of you. And until that SOB shows up, you're sticking to Logan like glue!"

"What about me, Bruce?" Tony asked, laughing.

"You? We just called your stepfather. As soon as he's extricated himself from whatever Satyricon he's thrown in sunny LA for Christmas, you're his responsibility. You are going home, Tony. You and Liv have used up all your drinks for a month in the past few days, and you've had your fun but now you're both done. And don't come back here for Liv. Even if Eddie's not here by the beginning of the party, he'll be here. Liv can go with me and her brother, like she did before the Comedian made her his partner. And, if either of you get crocked, tomorrow night, you'll be at the MORC for Christmas. Don't think I won't do it, because I will."

Bruce turned back to Liv.

"Say good night to your guests. Everybody's leaving."

After everybody left, Liv she started stumbling around, trying to clean up.

Almost immediately Alfred was on the scene.

Sometimes Logan wondered if the man was psychic.

"No, no, Miss Napier. Here's your coffee. Master Grayson and I will clean up for you. Why don't you go downstairs and give Mr. Logan his Christmas present?"

"That's a good idea. Alfred?"

"Yes, Miss?"

"Am I disgustingly drunk?"

"I have seen you disgustingly drunk many times, Miss Napier. At this time, you're not."

"Good."

"But you are close. I suggest you finish off your holiday with tea and eggnog and hot chocolate. If you're looking for something more exciting, I shall go out, tomorrow, and buy you a case of Coke."

Liv laughed.

"Thanks, Alfred. Merry Christmas, huh?"

"Quite."

Logan had to agree with Alfred; Liv was only just about as drunk as she used to be on a daily basis when she was a completely degenerate alcoholic.

He went down the elevator in her bedroom with her to the Funhouse, her workshop and lair.

She led him to the garage.

There was an entire car wrapped in shiny purple wrapping paper, with Christmas trees and candy canes all over it.

And, of course, a big red bow.

"You bought me a car? But I don't like these new cars. They look like cigar boxes."

"No, man, I re-built you a car. From the ground up. All you got is that old shitty truck to go around in, besides your motorcycle. I got the body at the junkyard, an' all the parts, an I been workin' on it since last year. Well, go on, open it. But no claws. You'll screw up the paint job, an' me an' Hollis practically hadda kill somebody ta get this vintage paint."

Carefully, Logan tore the wrapping paper away from the car.

His jaw unhinged.

Underneath was a 1951 Studebaker Champion sedan, cherry red, with black leather interior, and it gleamed and shone so he could see his face in the chrome.

And the paint job.

It looked showroom perfect.

"Darlin', you are a witch."

"I even put fuzzy dice onna mirror. An' if you didn't come to the party this year, I was gonna save it till youse did."

"An' I didn't get you nothin'. I gotta lay off this Scrooge routine. Maybe I can get Jeannie or Mel ta take me, yunno...shopping, tomorrow."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure you got somethin' for me, Logan. B'sides, it's blood between us. You comin' to the party without me havin' ta drag youse here is good enough. C'mon. Let's go upstairs, an' take a bath, an' hit the sack."

"You tired, already?"

"Hell, no!"

Later, after Liv was asleep, as the sun was beginning to come up, Logan called the X-Mansion, and got Mel on the phone.

"What do you mean you hafta go shopping, Daddy? I was just down at your place and I saw all the presents, with everybody's names on 'em all wrapped up, stacked in the closet. And I can't believe you actually cleaned up, man. Everything looks good."

After he talked to Mel, Logan thought for a few minutes, and then called Rogue's room.

Victor was there.

"You been in my room, Creed?"

"No, runt. I been in a disgusting pigsty fulla cigar butts, beer cans and sweat socks that I hadda pay my cleaning lady, who does all the masks' places a whole C-note just to touch. And don't worry about the closet full of Christmas presents. I took it outa your share of the dough Marvel Comics paid us this year. You know. The dough I keep for you, and whatever descendants you might accidentally make, someday, in an unbreakable trust."

"Yeah." Logan said.

"Uh huh. You're welcome, Jimmy. Get some sleep. We both know Stark's gonna be there tomorrow. Right around the time Eddie shows up."

"It's not gonna be pretty, Vic."

"Shit like that never is."


End file.
